Devil's Snare, for Traycer_
Title: Devil’s Snare
Recipient: Traycer_
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,200
Warnings: Canon level violence
Author's Notes: Thank you for the awesome prompts! I decided to write something for “Finding trouble on the road less traveled.” This is a little different than what I normally write, but I really hope you like it!
Summary: Sam and Dean look into a small town with a high missing persons rate, the results aren’t quite what they were expecting.
The bell above the diner door rang as Dean pushed it open. A peeling sign on the door read “Best pie in town!” offering what was likely to be another unfulfilled promise. Then again, considering they were in the back of nowhere it might just be true. He doubted the competition was too stiff.
They had been turned on the potential case by Sam. Apparently for such a small town in the middle of nowhere they had an unusually high missing person’s rate. But being here in person Dean was getting a pretty good feeling that he missing persons might not be such a big mystery. If he was forced to spend any amount of time here he would want to be go missing too.
A pretty blond waitress showed them to their table. He leaned in to read her nametag that read, “Amy.”
“So Amy, what’s good around here?” He gave her his best smile and she gave him a nearly blank stare in return.
“Not much. But the blueberry pie is not too bad.”
“Way too sell it. I’ll have that.” For her part Amy wrote down his order without further comment, then turned a bright smile to Sam.
“And what about you, Sugar?”
Dean tried to suppress a sigh while Sam ordered something healthy and boring. There was no accounting for taste it would seem.
While Amy made eyes at Sam and he stumbled over whatever he was saying something caught Dean’s eye. It was a corkboard near the door with missing person’s posters layered across it, some old and faded but one looking new.
As soon as their waitress turned and left Dean leaned in and pointed out the board to his brother. “So what do you think is going? People going missing, no bodies left behind, that doesn’t sound like a werewolf or a vampire.”
“Unless they’ve started being more careful.” Sam replied.
“So an intelligent monster? That would make things more difficult.” The possibilities stretched out in his mind as he contemplated the different creatures it could be. If the average person knew all the things with teeth waiting out in the darkness to eat them, they’d probably never leave their homes again.
“People go missing at an alarming rate for this town.” Sam reiterated, “but there doesn’t seem to be any particular pattern. And there isn’t a specific time period in between. Years will go by before someone goes missing, but there doesn’t seem to be any correlation between the disappearances. It seems to be random, but if it was something feeding it wouldn’t wait so long in between. The other weird part is that everyone goes missing in the same place. Every one of them are last seen going into the wood on the edge of town and their never found again.”
“So the woods are a cockroach hotel, people check in and never check out. “
“Something like that.” Sam was stopped from further discussion as their waitress came back, setting down their food without ever looking away from Sam.
“Amy, I couldn’t help noticing all the missing posters. Is something going on? I hope it’s nothing too dangerous.” Sam said, with faked concern. FBI get ups were great, but sometimes all it took was one talkative local to get what they needed.
Amy’s eyes widened slightly and she spoke with poorly concealed excitement, trying to sound sad while she was clearly thrilled to have new bodies to tell the town gossip to.
“It’s old farmer McGregor’s doing. He’s dead now, but while he was alive he a put a curse on his land. He wanted to keep away people from trying to steal his livestock. So he used some satanic magic or something to ensure anyone who trespassed on his property would never leave. And even after he died the curse is still in place. He’s buried beneath this big old tree on his property. Most people are smart enough to steer clear. But every once in a while someone decides to be brave and try to dispel all those old rumors, or prove they aren’t afraid of whatever. But everyone who has gone out to find his grave has never come back.” Her eyes shined with excitement as she recounted her tale. “But you know it’s probably all just old stories. I mean, curses aren’t real. There’s probably just some rabid animal in the woods getting to people.” She threw in the necessary disclaimer, of course SHE didn’t believe those stories, but you know, other people did.
“Wow that’s terrible. Well, I guess we’ll have to stay out of the woods then!” Sam told her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they trudged through the wood towards where they were told the grave was Dean swatted at the various insects that were trying to eat him alive. Sharp sticks and branches reached out to grab at him.
“Why can’t ghosts ever haunt anywhere nice? I’d love to investigate a haunting at Palm Springs or something.” Dean said as he disentangled his coat from a particularly aggressive branch.
“Maybe ghosts aren’t restless when they die somewhere that nice. I don’t think it would be that bad being stuck somewhere warm, probably wouldn’t need to haunt anyone then.” Sam responded.
“Hopefully we’ll die somewhere nice and we can test that theory.” Dean said, though he doubted it. With their lives he never pictured himself dying anything but violently.
It was relatively easy to find what they were looking for. They followed a severely overgrown trail through the woods that was probably once a dirt road. The path went on winding past them, but they stopped when they saw what they were looking for. A massive gnarled tree stood tall, it’s branches reaching up towards the darkening sky. The trees around it were sparse with dead leaves, the harbinger of oncoming winter. But this one stood fully leafed out, it’s leaves bright and vibrant with life.
A small stone marker, now faded and chipped with time, stood at its base marking where the farmer’s body was laid to rest. His body may be at peace, but his soul clearly wasn’t. It would seem he had been hanging on, protecting his property long after it was abandoned and over grown. His influence seemed to be keep the tree that stood over him alive, even now. At least it made it easy to find where he was.
Their shovels pushed into the dirt with a soft thud as they set to working digging up the grave. Once they were finished they lit up the bones. As they watched the bones burn, Sam still looked troubled. “Do you think that was too easy? Supposedly the ghost of this guy has been killing everyone who came near his grave, but we were able to dig it up without any sign of him whatsoever. Something just doesn’t track.”
Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder, “Don’t overthink it. Just take the win. Who knows why ghosts do what they do?” Something sharp pushed into his foot. He looked down and saw a tree root reaching out against his leg. He stepped to the side and added “trees” to the list of things he hated about being in the woods.
As the flames died down, leaving the charred remains of Farmer McGreggor behind, Dean reached for his shovel to cover the evidence. But as he tried to take a step he found his foot was stuck. It was those tree roots again, somehow they he had caught his foot. He tried to pull his foot out, but it was almost as if the root was tightening around his foot. He gave another hard tug and almost lost balance. He would have fallen if another tree root hadn’t shot out to wrap around his arm, then another around his waist and before he could do more than shout a half strangled “Sam!” tree roots were wrapping around him, leaving him unable to move. He felt himself being pulled back then everything went completely black around him. He was, as far as he could surmise, trapped inside the tree. Two thoughts occurred to him almost simultaneously: He had solved the mystery of what was had happened to all the missing people, and he would be damned if the thing that finally got him was a man-eating tree.
He struggled against the roots that had him pinned, trying to get his hand loose enough to reach his knife or gun, or hell, even his lighter, something that would get him out of this.
Something sticky dripped over him, it had an acrid-sweet smell, like maple syrup mixed with something unidentifiable. He wasn’t sure which he resented more: that the tree was trying to eat him, or that it had just ruined maple syrup for him.
He could hear muffled sounds from the other side, he could guess it was Sam, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, couldn’t respond that the was still alive.
The more he struggled the more the roots tightened around him. Then the tree itself creaked and groaned as if in pain, whatever Sam was doing must be working. One of the roots loosened enough that he was able to get one hand free and with a little work reached his blade. With one quick movement he used the opportunity that he was afforded to sever one of the roots, that terrible creaking groan came again and more of the sticky acrid stuff poured from the now severed root. Now his hand was mostly free and he cut and slashed at whatever was in reach, until the rest of the restraints retreated from him. He stuck the blade deep into the inside of the tree in front of him and pulled down as hard as he could. It didn’t cut exactly like wood should and it took a few stabs before he finally saw a glimmer of light. Once he was through that far, the rest of the tree pulled back around him, leaving him an exit. He could feel the wood around him shivering as he pushed past. He emerged back into fresh air to find Sam staring at him. He could see the poorly concealed smirk on his brother’s face and he could only imagine what a sight he must make. Covered in sap, having almost been eaten by a tree. He held up a hand to stave off whatever comment Sam planning on making.
“I need a shower,” Dean said, filling in the silence, “or ten.” But first there was more important business to attend to. He took no small sense of satisfaction watching the tree go up in flames.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s called the ‘Devil’s Snare.’ It’s rare, but reports of man-eating plants have appeared in the literate of many different cultures. It’s basically a venus-flytrap only capable of eating large animals. There isn’t much research into them, by and large if someone finds one they destroy it. Either that or they sacrifice people to it.” Sam’s voice filtered into him through the door of the hotel bathroom. The stuff Dean was coated in was harder to get off than he had anticipated. He was pretty sure he could still feel some of it sticking to his skin.
“So you think this farmer McGregor somehow found this thing and decided to use to it to guard his property, like some giant man-eating guard dog?” Dean asked, as he ran a towel through his hair.
“Either that or it just happened to be on his property and the myth about the curse came up later. It’s possible he never knew what it was, maybe he just thought it was a good place to be buried. Either way, the important thing is that it’s gone.” Sam stopped talking, and there was a long pause before he spoke again. “Do you think we should tell people what happened? It might give the families some closure if they knew what happened to their loved ones.”
Dean opened the door and eyed his brother incredulously. “You think it would make them feel better to know all those missing people were eaten by a tree? No, it’s better this way. People don’t want the truth. They want to sleep soundly at night, secure in the knowledge that vampires, and werewolves and man-eating plants are a just a part of books and movies. Nobody wants to know what’s going on. If you want to give them closure tell them you found a rabid wolf and killed it, something nice and normal.”
Sam didn’t say anything but Dean could see that he had gotten through to him. Everyone said they wanted the truth, but no one wanted to know what was out there. It wasn’t like they had had a choice in the matter. With everything he knew, everything he had seen, it still astounded him sometimes that there were still some roads even they had never gone down.
A/N: I chose this particular creature after doing research on unusual man-eating things and reading some rather bizarre tales by world travelers about man-eating trees. This isn’t based on any one particular type, but “Devil’s Snare” is supposedly the name one of them.
Recipient: Traycer_
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: ~2,200
Warnings: Canon level violence
Author's Notes: Thank you for the awesome prompts! I decided to write something for “Finding trouble on the road less traveled.” This is a little different than what I normally write, but I really hope you like it!
Summary: Sam and Dean look into a small town with a high missing persons rate, the results aren’t quite what they were expecting.
The bell above the diner door rang as Dean pushed it open. A peeling sign on the door read “Best pie in town!” offering what was likely to be another unfulfilled promise. Then again, considering they were in the back of nowhere it might just be true. He doubted the competition was too stiff.
They had been turned on the potential case by Sam. Apparently for such a small town in the middle of nowhere they had an unusually high missing person’s rate. But being here in person Dean was getting a pretty good feeling that he missing persons might not be such a big mystery. If he was forced to spend any amount of time here he would want to be go missing too.
A pretty blond waitress showed them to their table. He leaned in to read her nametag that read, “Amy.”
“So Amy, what’s good around here?” He gave her his best smile and she gave him a nearly blank stare in return.
“Not much. But the blueberry pie is not too bad.”
“Way too sell it. I’ll have that.” For her part Amy wrote down his order without further comment, then turned a bright smile to Sam.
“And what about you, Sugar?”
Dean tried to suppress a sigh while Sam ordered something healthy and boring. There was no accounting for taste it would seem.
While Amy made eyes at Sam and he stumbled over whatever he was saying something caught Dean’s eye. It was a corkboard near the door with missing person’s posters layered across it, some old and faded but one looking new.
As soon as their waitress turned and left Dean leaned in and pointed out the board to his brother. “So what do you think is going? People going missing, no bodies left behind, that doesn’t sound like a werewolf or a vampire.”
“Unless they’ve started being more careful.” Sam replied.
“So an intelligent monster? That would make things more difficult.” The possibilities stretched out in his mind as he contemplated the different creatures it could be. If the average person knew all the things with teeth waiting out in the darkness to eat them, they’d probably never leave their homes again.
“People go missing at an alarming rate for this town.” Sam reiterated, “but there doesn’t seem to be any particular pattern. And there isn’t a specific time period in between. Years will go by before someone goes missing, but there doesn’t seem to be any correlation between the disappearances. It seems to be random, but if it was something feeding it wouldn’t wait so long in between. The other weird part is that everyone goes missing in the same place. Every one of them are last seen going into the wood on the edge of town and their never found again.”
“So the woods are a cockroach hotel, people check in and never check out. “
“Something like that.” Sam was stopped from further discussion as their waitress came back, setting down their food without ever looking away from Sam.
“Amy, I couldn’t help noticing all the missing posters. Is something going on? I hope it’s nothing too dangerous.” Sam said, with faked concern. FBI get ups were great, but sometimes all it took was one talkative local to get what they needed.
Amy’s eyes widened slightly and she spoke with poorly concealed excitement, trying to sound sad while she was clearly thrilled to have new bodies to tell the town gossip to.
“It’s old farmer McGregor’s doing. He’s dead now, but while he was alive he a put a curse on his land. He wanted to keep away people from trying to steal his livestock. So he used some satanic magic or something to ensure anyone who trespassed on his property would never leave. And even after he died the curse is still in place. He’s buried beneath this big old tree on his property. Most people are smart enough to steer clear. But every once in a while someone decides to be brave and try to dispel all those old rumors, or prove they aren’t afraid of whatever. But everyone who has gone out to find his grave has never come back.” Her eyes shined with excitement as she recounted her tale. “But you know it’s probably all just old stories. I mean, curses aren’t real. There’s probably just some rabid animal in the woods getting to people.” She threw in the necessary disclaimer, of course SHE didn’t believe those stories, but you know, other people did.
“Wow that’s terrible. Well, I guess we’ll have to stay out of the woods then!” Sam told her.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As they trudged through the wood towards where they were told the grave was Dean swatted at the various insects that were trying to eat him alive. Sharp sticks and branches reached out to grab at him.
“Why can’t ghosts ever haunt anywhere nice? I’d love to investigate a haunting at Palm Springs or something.” Dean said as he disentangled his coat from a particularly aggressive branch.
“Maybe ghosts aren’t restless when they die somewhere that nice. I don’t think it would be that bad being stuck somewhere warm, probably wouldn’t need to haunt anyone then.” Sam responded.
“Hopefully we’ll die somewhere nice and we can test that theory.” Dean said, though he doubted it. With their lives he never pictured himself dying anything but violently.
It was relatively easy to find what they were looking for. They followed a severely overgrown trail through the woods that was probably once a dirt road. The path went on winding past them, but they stopped when they saw what they were looking for. A massive gnarled tree stood tall, it’s branches reaching up towards the darkening sky. The trees around it were sparse with dead leaves, the harbinger of oncoming winter. But this one stood fully leafed out, it’s leaves bright and vibrant with life.
A small stone marker, now faded and chipped with time, stood at its base marking where the farmer’s body was laid to rest. His body may be at peace, but his soul clearly wasn’t. It would seem he had been hanging on, protecting his property long after it was abandoned and over grown. His influence seemed to be keep the tree that stood over him alive, even now. At least it made it easy to find where he was.
Their shovels pushed into the dirt with a soft thud as they set to working digging up the grave. Once they were finished they lit up the bones. As they watched the bones burn, Sam still looked troubled. “Do you think that was too easy? Supposedly the ghost of this guy has been killing everyone who came near his grave, but we were able to dig it up without any sign of him whatsoever. Something just doesn’t track.”
Dean slapped his brother on the shoulder, “Don’t overthink it. Just take the win. Who knows why ghosts do what they do?” Something sharp pushed into his foot. He looked down and saw a tree root reaching out against his leg. He stepped to the side and added “trees” to the list of things he hated about being in the woods.
As the flames died down, leaving the charred remains of Farmer McGreggor behind, Dean reached for his shovel to cover the evidence. But as he tried to take a step he found his foot was stuck. It was those tree roots again, somehow they he had caught his foot. He tried to pull his foot out, but it was almost as if the root was tightening around his foot. He gave another hard tug and almost lost balance. He would have fallen if another tree root hadn’t shot out to wrap around his arm, then another around his waist and before he could do more than shout a half strangled “Sam!” tree roots were wrapping around him, leaving him unable to move. He felt himself being pulled back then everything went completely black around him. He was, as far as he could surmise, trapped inside the tree. Two thoughts occurred to him almost simultaneously: He had solved the mystery of what was had happened to all the missing people, and he would be damned if the thing that finally got him was a man-eating tree.
He struggled against the roots that had him pinned, trying to get his hand loose enough to reach his knife or gun, or hell, even his lighter, something that would get him out of this.
Something sticky dripped over him, it had an acrid-sweet smell, like maple syrup mixed with something unidentifiable. He wasn’t sure which he resented more: that the tree was trying to eat him, or that it had just ruined maple syrup for him.
He could hear muffled sounds from the other side, he could guess it was Sam, but couldn’t hear what he was saying, couldn’t respond that the was still alive.
The more he struggled the more the roots tightened around him. Then the tree itself creaked and groaned as if in pain, whatever Sam was doing must be working. One of the roots loosened enough that he was able to get one hand free and with a little work reached his blade. With one quick movement he used the opportunity that he was afforded to sever one of the roots, that terrible creaking groan came again and more of the sticky acrid stuff poured from the now severed root. Now his hand was mostly free and he cut and slashed at whatever was in reach, until the rest of the restraints retreated from him. He stuck the blade deep into the inside of the tree in front of him and pulled down as hard as he could. It didn’t cut exactly like wood should and it took a few stabs before he finally saw a glimmer of light. Once he was through that far, the rest of the tree pulled back around him, leaving him an exit. He could feel the wood around him shivering as he pushed past. He emerged back into fresh air to find Sam staring at him. He could see the poorly concealed smirk on his brother’s face and he could only imagine what a sight he must make. Covered in sap, having almost been eaten by a tree. He held up a hand to stave off whatever comment Sam planning on making.
“I need a shower,” Dean said, filling in the silence, “or ten.” But first there was more important business to attend to. He took no small sense of satisfaction watching the tree go up in flames.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“It’s called the ‘Devil’s Snare.’ It’s rare, but reports of man-eating plants have appeared in the literate of many different cultures. It’s basically a venus-flytrap only capable of eating large animals. There isn’t much research into them, by and large if someone finds one they destroy it. Either that or they sacrifice people to it.” Sam’s voice filtered into him through the door of the hotel bathroom. The stuff Dean was coated in was harder to get off than he had anticipated. He was pretty sure he could still feel some of it sticking to his skin.
“So you think this farmer McGregor somehow found this thing and decided to use to it to guard his property, like some giant man-eating guard dog?” Dean asked, as he ran a towel through his hair.
“Either that or it just happened to be on his property and the myth about the curse came up later. It’s possible he never knew what it was, maybe he just thought it was a good place to be buried. Either way, the important thing is that it’s gone.” Sam stopped talking, and there was a long pause before he spoke again. “Do you think we should tell people what happened? It might give the families some closure if they knew what happened to their loved ones.”
Dean opened the door and eyed his brother incredulously. “You think it would make them feel better to know all those missing people were eaten by a tree? No, it’s better this way. People don’t want the truth. They want to sleep soundly at night, secure in the knowledge that vampires, and werewolves and man-eating plants are a just a part of books and movies. Nobody wants to know what’s going on. If you want to give them closure tell them you found a rabid wolf and killed it, something nice and normal.”
Sam didn’t say anything but Dean could see that he had gotten through to him. Everyone said they wanted the truth, but no one wanted to know what was out there. It wasn’t like they had had a choice in the matter. With everything he knew, everything he had seen, it still astounded him sometimes that there were still some roads even they had never gone down.
A/N: I chose this particular creature after doing research on unusual man-eating things and reading some rather bizarre tales by world travelers about man-eating trees. This isn’t based on any one particular type, but “Devil’s Snare” is supposedly the name one of them.